When I set out to learn about my mother's bridge club, the Jewish octogenarians behind the matching outfits and accessories, I never expected to fall in love with them. This is the story of the ladies, their game, their gen, and the ragged path that led me back to my mother.
Lost the Oscar ballot. The problem is I continue to vote with my heart instead of my head. The big message last night was (wait for it). HOLD ON TO YOUR DREAMS. I know full well that none of my screenplays are ever going to get made, I know full well that I won’t get to sit on set and watch Rachel Weisz do her seventh take of my favorite scene. Daniel Craig won’t direct. I know I’ll never get to the Oscars, never read the speech molting in my pocket book, never hob nob at the Governor’s Ball or hit the Vanity Fair after party. None of it is going to come true, but I don’t care.
What are you holding on to against all odds?
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Betsy Lerner 
I’d like to be a writer that’s read enough to make a living from my craft.
“What are you holding on to against all odds?”
Yours is a question I started to answer, thinking my response could come quick and true. Before I had even finished the sentence, I realized, “No, that’s not quite right.” I thought, well, what is it then? What am I holding on to against all odds?
I think it’s everything and nothing, if that makes sense. I recently read Ecclesiastes for the umpity-eth time, and am likely influenced in the wake of that. Does anything other than doing my work, enjoying my food and drink in good time and measure, and treating those closest to me in kind and caring ways really matter? All is vanity. All passes and is forgotten.
I suppose I’m holding out against time. Always have been. How to freeze the passing moment, in words or photographs. What I’m holding on to now against the odds (I don’t know if it’s all the odds) is the hope that I may finish my work before I go. I do not think that is likely to happen. I do not find that a dismaying thought. I would hate to reach the point where I had nothing left to do.
. . . against all odds . . .
That’s the key part of the question.
In the grand scheme of craft – a NYT bestseller – but, geez, those odds. A movie option, then the actual movie being made. The odds there are daunting, too.
Otherwise, my health.
Nothing, I hope. I’m trying to learn to let go.
Publishing a book, against all odds. One ms. in all its iterations is with one final small press for consideration. I say “one final” because that’s my own personal line in the sand. After that, I’m done with that one. I think. Another sits neatly in an ms box, sleeping, to be awakened someday with a kiss. Another…well, you get the picture. Current project: a chapbook of flash CNF/memoir. A heart project. In the meantime, I read Betsy’s The Forest for the Trees and Abigail Thomas’ latest Still Life At Eighty. Talismen. Though I’m not 80. It’s about the journey. Right?
…like Tet time, like Donna health, like Averil to let go, like Phyllis to kiss awake a masterpiece, like jack to make a decent living at what I love to do and like you Betsy…that the unlikely happens and blows your fuckin’ mind.
My immigrant musical, Meet Me on the Corner, 3 novels, many plays. And a check for 500,000 in my wallet for publishing a Big Deal. But…as long as I am alive…I can hope…and I do. I’m with you all the way! ❤️🩷🧡💚💚💜❤️
I don’t want to say it out loud and jinx it…